


Because We Believe

by badgerpride89



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 01:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13019946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badgerpride89/pseuds/badgerpride89
Summary: A collection of Coco stories. Because, at the end of the day, a lot needs repairing and changing for Héctor to become a fully integrated member of his new familia.1. Héctor never saw his little girl grow up. So, he turns to the one man who might love her as much as he does for some answers.





	Because We Believe

Honestly, Julio was the easiest to talk to. Because seriously. While he hadn’t spent an enormous amount of time with his familia yet (it still choked him up, that he had a family, that his Coco had built such a life and all of it without him, it lodged deep in his throat), looks and mannerisms alone identified Victoria as Imelda’s granddaughter through and through. Certainly, she and the twins seemed rather mortified of the way they had treated him now that everything was out in the open but...Imelda’s blood through and through. There were only so many awkward pauses and stops and starts to conversations a man could take.

Imelda...she had changed. Far more than he had realized all of those decades ago, the last time he’d seen her before the Incident. She, too, had lived a long, full life without him, a hard and grinding one which had worn away the softer edges he remembered of her. She also needed too much forgiveness, had too many hurt feelings for the request Héctor truly needed answered. They were working their way back to each other, slowly and carefully in a way they never had in life but the Incident demonstrated all too clearly that his Coco would soon be in all of their arms again and he...didn’t know her. He knew the little girl she had been but not the woman she had become. That was the most frustrating part- so much had happened, so much had changed, and all of it without him. He had to know her as she had become, her true self. He had to give her the best welcome he could and it was not expecting to see his little three-year-old girl again.

So, Julio it was. He had married Coco, after all, and seemed far more open and friendly than the others, if a little afraid of Imelda (everyone feared Imelda- once that had not been the case, she had been beloved and fierce but never frightening). Héctor brought a bottle of the good tequila, fully distilled down in the shantytown below the city proper, and two glasses and slammed them onto the table in front of his son-in-law. The title still threw him; Julio had lived well beyond his own years. For his part, the man eyed the alcohol then nodded appreciatively.

“You have good taste, seňor,” Julio said as Héctor took his seat.

Héctor poured out two shots and handed one to Julio. “Tell me about her,” he said, the words catching over the lump in his throat.

“Ah, Socorro,” Julio said as a wistful expression bloomed on his face. He swirled the shot and lifted it for a toast, which Héctor answered. Julio swallowed the shot and asked, “What would you like to know?”

 _Everything._ From the most minute of details to the biggest moments of her life. He didn’t know where to begin, there was _so much_. His look must have given him away because Julio nodded knowingly and glanced around for the others before he spoke.

“She was sixteen, seňor, when I first met her,” he began as he filled another glass, which he drank slowly. “I was fifteen, myself. She had snuck out to the plaza that night, to hear the musicians play and to dance. My Socorro, she was a vision, poetry in motion. It was like...the music was in her every step, every little movement. It was…”

“Stunning,” Héctor whispered. Imelda had been the same, her voice, her bearing, he had never had a chance. That his little girl kept that love of music, even in the face of what became a generations long ban, that she had it in her bones, it warmed his heart that music hadn’t been ruined for her when her papa never returned.

“Ay, Seňor, stunning. Magnifica in a way I still cannot describe,” Julio agreed.

Héctor shook his head. “No more of this seňor thing, comprende? I’m just Héctor.”

“Héctor,” Julio said slowly as though testing the name on his tongue. “Well, anyway, I was watching the dancers when I saw Socorro. I was shy, of course, but I had to ask her for a dance. She gave me the sweetest smile and her hand. We danced for hours after that and met when we could at the plaza. It was just the two of us, the entire world could have ended and we wouldn’t have noticed. Soon we were talking and laughing and somewhere along the way, she fell in love with me as I did her.”

Héctor chuckled appreciatively at Julio’s soft, aching voice, reminded so strongly of his and Imelda’s courtship that he could do little more than swallow his own tequila. He remained quiet a moment longer, waiting for Julio to continue the story.

But the man seemed lost in his own memories so Héctor sat his glass onto the table with a loud thump. It startled Julio, who at least had the grace to look apologetic.

He picked up the thread. “Of course, Imelda caught her sneaking out one night. By that point, we were ready to tell our families that we wanted to marry. But Imelda...well, I don’t think she ever forgave me for Socorro’s defiance, not really. She always had the worst tasks for me in the workshop. Anyway, she told me she would only give her blessing for the marriage if I swore off music for the rest of my life and joined her shoe-making business. I knew how important music was to Socorro and I didn’t want to put her in the position of choosing her passion or her love. I tried a different tactic with Imelda. Socorro and I quietly saved little bits of money here and there over the years and I and my papa bought the land and built the house our family lives in to this day.”

“You did all of that?” Héctor gasped, eyes wide.

Julio chuckled. “It was Socorro’s idea. We… well, she thought that if we could prove that I was serious about building a life with her, about never- abandoning-” Julio trailed off awkwardly, wincing at the words as he fumbled for a better phrase.

The awkwardness, the pain, none of it mattered. Héctor was an expert at shoving those feelings aside until a more convenient moment. He gestured at Julio to continue.

Thankfully, he did. “She was twenty-three, I was twenty-two when we finally married. We didn’t have a band at the wedding, if you can imagine what that was like.”

“It sounds rather grim,” Héctor answered honestly.

“Like the grave,” Julio agreed, pouring his next shot. “My sister, Rosita, she gave Socorro the most beautiful pink dress for the wedding. Pink really is her color, seňor.”

“Héctor.”

“Héctor. Anyway, I remained in my family’s furnishing business until I had worked off my papa's part of our home. Victoria was born just after I began work in Imelda’s workshop. Elena came a few years later.”

“Miguel’s abuelita, correct?” Héctor asked for confirmation. There were so many Riveras Héctor couldn’t yet keep them all straight.

“Sí,” Julio nodded.

“And Coco? What is she like?”

“She is a peacemaker, seňor, and the glue that holds the family together.”

“Héctor.”

“Héctor. Imelda is…”

“Loud? Vibrant? Blatant?” Héctor rattled off, to which Julio nodded.

“Sí, all of those things. But, um, well, she’s very sure of herself and unafraid to tell you all about it when she thinks she's right.”

“Ay, that she is,” Héctor agreed.

“Socorro, though, well, she feels as deeply as Imelda does but she’s not quite as...obvious about it. She is the kind of person who will listen to all of your troubles when you need an ear, and the one person who could see through anyone. The girls never tried to put anything past her -their father was another story- because all she had to do was look at you and it was like she knew all of your sins. And she never judged you for them, she just wanted to understand why you did it and wanted you to understand why it was wrong,” Julio finished, his voice barely above a whisper.

For his part, Héctor barely breathed. This was what he had wondered, all of those years alone. Who she became, who she was to those around her. He had never entertained the idea of her forgiveness but now, he dared to hope. Could it be truly possible?

“She kept your letters, you know,” Julio said.

Héctor blinked. His mind went utterly blank.

“What?”

Julio nodded. “Imelda doesn’t even know. Socorro saved each and every one. I only saw them twice, once when Imelda was making preparations for Felipe and Oscar’s funerals. This was...oh, sixty-eight or so. Once when Gloria, our youngest grandchild, was born in nineteen eighty. I think she’d still have them, even Elena wouldn’t go through and discard her mama’s things like that.”

Héctor went slack, completely flummoxed by this new revelation. He could see it in his mind's eye, imagine the pages he had written and the songs he had sent age like his old bones, so very fragile, preserved only by one woman’s determination and memory. Quietly defiant, indeed. His Coco had saved just enough of his name and life to pass them along, if anyone asked the right questions. More and more, he found himself in awe of his daughter. She truly was the best of Imelda and him; her stubborn refusal to let go completely and his conciliatory nature combined to create such an amazing woman.

But that did beg the question.

It must have been all over his face because Julio cleared his throat and spoke once more. “You have to understand, Héctor, she never wanted to hurt anyone, especially those she loved. And Imelda,” he sighed wearily, “She never really recovered. Bitterness and hurt took root so deeply in her that Socorro couldn’t cause her more pain by trying to pass on your story. And after Imelda died...well, Victoria and Elena were always more her grandchildren than our daughters, if you get my meaning.”

Héctor nodded numbly.

“To be honest, I think she was waiting for a Rivera to pass the story onto, someone who could listen as she does, openly and without judgement. Our grandchildren came and then our great-grandchildren. I had already died by the time Abel was born and...well, you could see her mind slowly going by then. She held on as long as she could but…” Julio shrugged, tears welling in his eyes.

Héctor’s own eyes had long ago given up holding back the tears. He chuckled to dispel the tension and said, “But then Miguel got himself cursed and was lucky enough to learn the truth in time to save his great-grandmother’s memory and his great-great grandfather’s hope.”

Julio laughed along with him as he shook his head. “Who knew we would all be thankful for that little escapade, eh?”

Who knew, indeed. Héctor had been stunned multiple times since his Incident but this completely blindsided him. He had thought that he might have a few years with Coco, however long Miguel lived and no longer. It would have been enough but now? Now there was a chance they would have decades more. He smiled widely, his heart warm for his girl and his little chamaco. Héctor settled back into his seat and poured himself a second shot and Julio...whatever number he was on.

“To Coco and Miguel.”

“To Socorro and Miguel.”


End file.
